


It's All Worthwhile

by pintyp



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, No Spoilers, Pre-Canon, well i mean they're actually like 15 but close enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 08:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintyp/pseuds/pintyp
Summary: If we can sparkle, he may land tonight,Don't tell your Papa or he'll get us locked up in fright...A teenage memory of Guzma's of going to Kukui's house and feeling unafraid to be himself. And also being introduced to the music of David Bowie.





	It's All Worthwhile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Dear Burning Crew (You Know Who You Are)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Dear+Burning+Crew+%28You+Know+Who+You+Are%29).



> So, this is actually prompt 2 (yes, I'm doing it out of order) of a series of trauma-related prompts to help me think a bit more deeply and analytically about my PTSD. And because I can't talk about my problems directly, I pin all of my issues onto Guzma because You Gotta.
> 
> Prompt 2 asks, "What are some good things that have happened in your life?" I took a bit of creative license (mostly with the David Bowie part, since that never actually happened) with it and decided to focus more on the story truth and emotional memory of my life.
> 
> Why does Kukui have two moms??? Don't ask me. I don't make the rules.
> 
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask, and if there is anything you think I should tag this with, please let me know!!!

There was something about Kukui’s house that just felt warm.

Not warm in the traditional sense (though the Alolan heat could have contributed), but warm in the sense that it was a place where Guzma could breathe without freezing fear taking up space in his chest. Something about the combination of sweet floral air freshener, homemade cooking, and perhaps even Kukui’s family itself made Guzma feel more at home than he did in his own house with his own parents.

It was Friday, so Guzma and Kukui had walked out to Hau’oli after school to… to be completely honest, Guzma wasn’t entirely sure _what_  they were doing. They goofed around in Gracidea for a while, trying to create the most gaudy and overpriced combination of clothes they could before getting kicked out for making too much noise, and then they walked closer to the Marina to buy what Kukui thought to be an outrageous amount of malasada. It wasn’t exactly a “date,” for even though they had secretly been together for almost a year by then, the two fifteen-year-olds couldn’t exactly go on “dates,” with Guzma’s dad being the way he was and all.

That was another reason Guzma liked coming to Kukui’s house so much. At Kukui’s, Guzma didn’t have to worry about scurrying and hiding all the time. In sharp contrast to Guzma’s father, Kukui’s moms wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him, and, obviously, they had no reason to judge their son or anyone he spent time with for their orientation. Part of it was just being able to spend time together with his boyfriend without having to be afraid, and part of it was seeing “how the other half lived,” but what mattered the most about Guzma’s trips after school to Iki Town were the chances they gave him to escape from his all-too-harsh reality, even if only for a few moments.

The contrast could be felt so acutely that sometimes it even made Guzma feel sick, as if a Chatot were screaming in the back of his mind to remind him that he would have to return back to his own world in only a few hours. Still, Guzma was always eager to take an opportunity to be anywhere but his actual house and have a legitimate excuse for it, even if it was only temporary.

The warm feeling hit Guzma as he and Kukui entered through the front door, just as it always did. Sunlight poured in through the windows and shone on the cream-colored furniture and the light wood floor. Looking at the interior alone was so calming that it could lull Guzma to sleep.

“Mom’s gonna make us that sweet potato you like for dinner,” Kukui said while opening up the windows, letting in the songs of bird Pokémon and the chirping of nearby bugs.

“Which ‘Mom?’”

“Tall Mom.”

“Gotcha.” Guzma wondered how his father continued to let him spend time with Kukui when Kukui had two mothers, but he supposed his dad never noticed. After all, when was the last time Guzma’s father really paid attention to anything if it wasn’t one of his son’s mistakes?

“They’re both at work right now, though.” Kukui took two malasadas out of the takeout bag. “So, we’re going to be alone for a couple of hours.” He tossed one of the malasadas to Guzma and began to unwrap his own.

“Alright.” Guzma practically fell into the couch in Kukui’s living room. The motions were natural; he had done it many times before, and there was actually a bit of a dent beginning to form in the couch in the exact spot that Guzma always flopped into.

Kukui walked over to the couch and sat next to Guzma, not in as obnoxious of a manner, but in one that was quiet, neat, perhaps even dainty. He laid his head on Guzma’s chest and let out a sigh of contentment as he wrapped his arms around Guzma.

“I’m glad we get to do this.”

“Do what?” Guzma asked.

Kukui pulled Guzma in more tightly to himself. “Just sort of… spending time together. Here, and away from… you know…”

“Yeah.” Guzma knew all too well.

“Hey.”

Kukui placed his hand on the back of Guzma’s neck and sat up. He leaned in, inviting Guzma to a kiss. Guzma, a bit too eager in his response, grabbed Kukui by the head, one hand on each cheek, and pulled Kukui towards himself, accidentally crashing into Kukui with his beakish nose.

“Shit!” Guzma put his hand to his mouth and backed up a bit. “I’m sorry. Holy fuck. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Kukui waved his hand casually to further prove his point. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

The two stared at each other for some moments, Guzma trying to make sure he caused Kukui no harm and Kukui trying to reassure Guzma that he was fine, before finally bursting into laughter.

“Dude, what?”

“I don’t know!”

“This… I…”

“Just—holy shit, man, holy fucking shit!”

Kukui laughed so hard his stomach began to hurt, and Guzma nearly fell off the couch, yet it was clumsy moments like these that reminded them of how grateful they were to be together. They leaned in towards each other again (and this time Guzma was sure to turn his head a bit) for another try. Kukui’s lips were soft and gentle, while Guzma was more unresponsive, still trying to process the fact that he was actually _here_ , in Kukui’s house, on Kukui’s couch, being able to share this time with him. And that was okay: Kukui understood, and he was willing to give Guzma all the time he needed before he was finally able to kiss back.

The calls of Pikipek outside and that strange warm feeling had Guzma in something of the likes of a trance. As a child, Guzma never thought he’d be able to feel as safe as he did in that exact moment, but there he was, being embraced by someone he cared about, knowing that person cared about him, too. The leaves of palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their cast shadows dancing gently against the wall. It felt like something out of an air freshener ad, a scene from a life he didn’t think could ever be his.

Both boys pulled away from each other, unable to wipe the somewhat arrogant teenage looks of satisfaction off their faces. Sure, their kisses weren’t particularly graceful, but they were _theirs_. Still, it wasn’t long before they realized how bad their aim was, noticing saliva reaching as far as the nose and starting to giggle at their own inexperience.

“So… now what?”

“Uh…” Guzma glanced around the room, hoping he could find something for inspiration. “I dunno.”

“Hm. We could go to my room?”

Guzma tried and failed to stifle laughter.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, asshole!” Kukui cried.

They got up and walked down the hall to Kukui’s room, Guzma occasionally unable to contain himself and Kukui jokingly scolding him for his immaturity.

Guzma let himself fall into the soft carpet of Kukui’s bedroom as Kukui closed the door behind him.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever used that record player before.” Guzma nodded towards a wooden record player near Kukui’s window. It looked old, and Guzma wasn’t sure it even worked.

“I use it.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never used it when I’ve come over before.”

“So?”

“Dude, I don’t even know what kinda music you like!”

“Oh.” Kukui paused, biting the inside of his cheek. “Can I show you one of my favorites, then?”

Kukui’s eyes lit up as Guzma nodded, a bewildered expression on his face as if to say, “Why bother show me anything else?” Kukui raced over to the crate with his collection inside and pulled out a record with a sleeve that showed a row of brick buildings with a street lamp and a person with bright yellow-blonde hair in front.

“What’s that?”

“You know David Bowie?”

“No.”

“It’s kind of older,” Kukui said, taking the record out of its liner. “Mom really likes it a lot. Not Tall Mom, Florist Mom. But, anyway, yeah. She gave it to me.” He set it on the mat and placed the needle somewhere in the latter half of the record.

On the ceiling, Guzma could watch the dancing shadows of bushes outside. What was it about Iki Town that made everything come to life? What was it about Kukui’s house that made Guzma feel like the little things like flowers and sunlight and even dirt had significance, enough significance to make Guzma catch himself thinking that life really _was_  worth living? It was all so peaceful, the type of peaceful that one feels when they are finally able to sleep safely, the type of peaceful that, a few years prior, Guzma was convinced he didn’t deserve to feel.

“What do you think?”

“Huh?” Guzma realized he was so lost in his bliss that he wasn’t even paying attention to the music. He let the soft guitar waltz around him for a bit, trying to take in and really understand what Kukui was revealing to him. “It’s nice. I like it. What’s this one called? The song, I mean.”

“‘Starman.’”

“Alright.”

Kukui sat down on his bed and motioned for Guzma to come sit next to him. Groaning a bit and taking more effort than necessary to get up off the floor, Guzma finally got up and toppled onto Kukui, almost as payback for the unnecessary exercise that Kukui had just made him do.

“Ack! You’re crushing me, Guz!”

“Shh, it’s a bear hug now.”

“Guzma!” Kukui chuckled and tugged at the sleeve of the other boy’s shirt.

“Okay, okay.” Guzma obliged and moved over a bit, letting Kukui reposition himself so that he could lay his head on Guzma’s chest. Kukui then reached for Guzma’s hand and laced his fingers through his own, and he pulled their locked hands towards himself to rest them over his heart.

_...There’s a starman waiting in the sky, he’s told us not to blow it ‘cause he knows it’s all worthwhile..._

Guzma couldn’t exactly say this David Bowie had the best voice, but it blended nicely with the instruments in the background. It was like the room he was in: the sun coming in through the window illuminating the dust, the ceiling fan moving around slowly, slowly… and then there was Kukui and himself, on top of Kukui’s bed, as if this were where they were supposed to be all along, as if this were his house, where he and Kukui lived together with no judgement or obstructions.

It pained Guzma, all too aware that this was anything but the reality. Sure, he could fantasize about it all he wanted to, but that didn’t change the fact that his father was his father: his cruel, uncontrollable father who ruled with a 9-iron and whose breath constantly smelled of cheap beer. Who could never accept anything that wasn’t perfect, and who definitely would never consider a son who liked boys to even be close.

All that he wanted to do was to stay there forever, in Kukui’s room, listening to old music on old records, grasping the hand of the boy he loved and never having to look the man who hurt him, the man who dared to consider himself a father, in the eye again. But Guzma knew he couldn’t, and it fucking sucked.

_...Let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie…_

“Hey, you doing alright?”

Kukui was looking up at Guzma with that worried look of his on his face. It happened every time Guzma thought too much: Kukui would intuitively know that Guzma was hurting, and then he would start to worry. And Kukui did so because he cared, but that wasn’t something Guzma fully understood yet.

“You’re kind of… um…” Kukui nodded towards his hand. Guzma was clenching, no, practically crushing it.

“Oh,” Guzma whispered, now grasping Kukui’s hand even more tightly in a futile attempt to stop his tears. “Sorry.”

He let go, finally, leaving Kukui to massage his hand and try to get his circulation to return to his fingers.

“I wish I could do more,” Kukui sighed. “Really, I do.” Kukui knew exactly what Guzma was upset about, and Guzma knew it, too.

“It’s fine.” Guzma wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s beyond helping at this point.”

“I know, and that’s what I hate about it.” He lay down next to Guzma and placed his head on his shoulder.

Guzma huffed and took in his surroundings once again. Despite everything, being next to Kukui in that room put him at ease like nothing else could.

“Your house really is like home to me, though,” Guzma said. “You know that, right? So, even as shit as things are, when I’m with you, I feel…”

He was at a loss for words. How could he distill all of his emotions, all of his thoughts into a brief phrase?

“...Happy?” Kukui ran his fingers over Guzma’s jacket sleeve.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

Guzma closed his eyes. If he thought about it, there was no better way he could have put it. “Happy:” simple, a tad childish, but evoking all of the feelings of safety and innocence that being with Kukui provided him. With Kukui, all of the darkness and torture could be erased. Guzma could focus on where he was now: protected from harm, at peace with everything in his life, feeling like he was actually _worth_  something.

Feeling happy.

“Kukui…”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

Kukui smiled. “I love you, too, Guzma.”

He planted a kiss on Guzma’s cheek and returned to his resting place on Guzma’s shoulder.

Guzma closed his eyes and let himself sink into the room around him. He figured there was no use worrying about having to return home, because what mattered was, at that moment, he was with Kukui. He was safe.

And, as the song was ending, he finally was beginning to understand how it felt to be loved.

_La, la la la la, la la la la, la la la la…_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of the people who have supported me and who will continue to support me through this. I care for each of you deeply, and I wish there were some way for me to repay you.


End file.
